


tomorrow looks like a silver lining

by AppleJuiz



Series: tomorrows look brighter [2]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adult Losers Club (IT), Angst, Breakfast, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Polyamorous Losers Club (IT), Post-Canon, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21929734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleJuiz/pseuds/AppleJuiz
Summary: “This whole thing is wild,” Richie says, laughing a little. “You know, you live your life for like thirty years surviving off bar hookups and knowing it’s gonna keep getting harder to find anyone to even look at you because you’re getting older and grosser so you just resign yourself to dying sad and alone. And then you resign yourself to dying at forty in your shitty hometown in a clown’s basement. So… this whole ‘everyone you’ve ever loved loves you back thing’ is a little unexpected.”
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon/Ben Hanscom/Eddie Kaspbrak/Beverly Marsh/Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris, The Losers Club/The Losers Club (IT)
Series: tomorrows look brighter [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1579309
Comments: 15
Kudos: 259





	tomorrow looks like a silver lining

**Author's Note:**

> we back. mostly because there are so many great dynamics that i love and can't stop thinking about.

Richie has a California king and nothing else in his bedroom. Literally nothing else, not even a nightstand, just a phone charger that flops limply on the floor. 

The bed doesn’t even have any sheets on it, just a flannel throw blanket.

“Do you know how many diseases that can build up on a-” Eddie shakes his head, feeling a shiver building beneath his neck. 

Richie seems minimally embarrassed, a weird uncomfortable energy coming off him in waves. He speeds through the rest of the house tour. 

There’s a room on the second floor that’s completely empty. Richie just shrugs. “Couldn’t think of anything to use it for.”

They pass through the dining room. There’s only one chair at the dinky little table and the back is slightly broken. “Usually I just eat on the couch.” 

“Get an area rug,” Eddie snaps, flinching at the empty, empty space, hardwood floors and nothing else. Something about it rubs him the wrong way. 

Richie shrugs again, bouncing on the balls of his feet, eager to show them where to put their stuff before running off to the kitchen to make them some boxed mac and cheese. 

Eddie can’t seem to get over how big it is, the room, the bed, the house. Big and empty. His apartment in New York… Well, it was an apartment in New York, it was tight and... a shared space, so cluttered and not exactly messy because… well, because. But it wasn’t like this: vacuous, cavernous, empty. 

Even when he and Bill start to unpack, their stuff barely fills the space, the blank canvas walls, the sparsely decorated rooms. 

If Bill is concerned he doesn’t show it, just drags the kitchen chair over to the foyer window when he wants to write. 

Two nights in, bundled up on the couch watching one of Bill’s old movies on FX, Richie becomes incredibly interested in his hands. “So you guys are moving in right?” 

And Bill just leans into him, hiding a smile against Richie’s shoulder, reaching to lace their fingers together, “Of course.”

“Okay, cool, so rent is like ten thousand, I can take checks on the first Tuesday of the month.”

“You know this means you’re gonna have to get a bookshelf, right?” Bill asks. “Cause my books are not staying in boxes, Rich.”

“I’m not gonna look like a fucking nerd at dinner parties, Bill.”

“We’re you’re only friends,” Bill shoots back, smiling over Richie’s shoulder at Eddie. It makes him feel warm, being with them both, being home. But even as Richie quips back ready to go on and on with Bill, Eddie feels an inexplicable sorrow in his chest. 

He can picture Richie here Before, alone. Just this big empty house, eating on the couch, forgetting to put sheets on the bed. He sees himself in his New York apartment, hours and miles away, the cramped bathroom and the cluttered medicine cabinet and snapping at Myra to  _ please god stop putting the mail on the kitchen table and also where are the fucking keys I’m going to be late and if I have to spend one more second in this apartment I’m going to suffocate.  _

He remembers sitting around the Derry Townhouse Lounge and getting somber, whispering confessions into the night to the six of them, knowing It was dead, knowing he was safe, knowing the rest of his life was beginning. 

He remembers their stories, their voices cracking and the way it burned right into his chest, hurt bloody and raw thinking of them like that. Bev, hurting, hiding herself away. Ben, also alone, trying to make himself small and everything around him so big. Bill, scattered across the country in trailers and hotel rooms, writing sad hopeless endings to soothe the grief in his heart. Mike in Derry, the hateful corners that echo with fear and pain. 

Stan, happy. But also the moments in between the happy, waking up in the morning and reaching for someone, a name on his lips that he couldn’t remember, making breakfast for Patty and blinking when he cracks way too many eggs for just the two of them. 

There’s so much lost time. And there’s so many whispers in this house of how Richie suffered before, just him and the bare walls and this well-worn couch. No one to bounce jokes off of, no one for him to curl up against, no one to pester for attention. 

It makes his skin tight. Richie without an audience. Richie left alone. 

He shoves his toes under Richie’s thighs, tries to hide his little gasp when Richie wraps a casual hand around his ankle. 

The next morning Bill drops down next to him with his laptop so Eddie can help pick out dressers for the bedroom. They don’t talk about it. 

Everything’s okay. He’s not in New York, he’s not with Myra. He’s in Los Angeles’ dry heat, Bill makes coffee every morning, Richie stumbles down the stairs and wraps around him from behind, leans over the counter to press a kiss to Eddie’s forehead. 

Richie isn’t alone. Ben and Bev send pictures daily from the boat, Mike is staying with Stan and Patty, about to head down to Florida at long last. 

Eddie buys three sets of sheets, various cotton blends and jersey fabrics. He and Bill sandwich Richie in bed every night, Eddie laying flat on his back because it’s the only way he can sleep without waking with a crick in his neck. 

Bill and Richie like to cling to each other, wrap so tight Eddie worried about their circulation, Bill with his face against Richie’s hair, Richie digging his fingers into the back of Bill’s shirt but always keeping one hand wrapped around Eddie’s wrist, the pads of his fingers pressing against his pulse point. 

Not alone. 

Bill buys a desk, Eddie picks out an area rug, two extra bar stools for the kitchen, various rugs and blinds, a few tablecloths. 

Richie comes one day, about a week after they land in LA with a potted succulent and a folder of CVS photo prints of the seven of them. 

“I’m naming the plant Audrey Two and you can’t stop me,” he says and Eddie helps him pick frames for the photos. 

#

“It’s so lovely to meet you,” Patty says, pressing into Mike for a quick and thorough hug. “You’re the one who called, right?”

Mike nods, still a little overwhelmed by the taxi ride from the airport, by the feeling of not being in Derry. 

“I gotta say I thought at first you were a jackass or something because Stanley did not look happy when you called,” Patty says. She’s Stan’s wife. That’s a little overwhelming too. He’s staring at Stan’s wife. 

“Patty,” Stan says, one hand resting lightly between Mike’s shoulder blades and the other brushes Patty’s forearm. 

“Well obviously I was wrong,” Patty says, shaking her head. “I don’t think I even wanna know how much you all drank on your crazy reunion week because I swear I kept getting calls from Stan all hours of the night, babbling and slurring like he hasn’t since college, professing his undying love for me and also for all you dorks. Apparently Ben has the most heartbreaking smile ever.”

“Patty,” Stan says again, a little bit of a squeak. His face is going red. Mike beams at him, reaches to touch him, his wrist, his waist, before remembering Stan’s wife and letting his hand settle back by his side. 

“C’mon,” Patty says. “Dinner. You guys must be hungry. Stan, baby, could you grab the nice wine from the garage.”

_ Baby.  _ Mike swallows hard. 

Stan lets his hand slip, squeezes Mike’s shoulder before heading back towards the front door. 

Mike almost preemptively winces. He’s never been good at interacting with non-Losers. It’s been a long twenty-seven years. 

“I should put my stuff in the guest room,” Mike says, searching out the foyer for his suitcase. 

“Mike,” Patty says, leaning in towards him with a warm smile. “I know you’re new to this, but you don’t have to tiptoe around what’s going on. I’m not some scorned wife and you’re not some mistress. Stanley said he loves you and you love him. I’m perfectly comfortable with what’s going on. And if you’re comfortable with it, I’d love to invite you to keep your things in our bedroom.”

“I feel like I’m imposing enough already,” Mike says, trying to laugh. 

Patty shakes her head. “You’re not. Stan wants you here. You’re more than welcome.”

“And you’re really… comfortable with this?” Mike asks. 

“Look, I’ve known most of my life that I would marry for stability over love. And that’s not to say that I don’t love Stan,” she says. “I do. And I’m so lucky to have him. But more than anything he’s my best friend. And we’re stable. And that’s enough for me. Just like how you have your group of losers and that works for you. I’m happy to see him happy. And you, all of you, really make him happy.”

The way she says it makes everything seems simple, makes twenty-seven years feel like a bad dream, makes the future look so bright and full of love. 

“You make him happy,” Mike offers even though it feels like the biggest understatement. Patty smiles at him and touches his shoulder. 

“See,” she says. “Simple as that.”

He smiles. “For now. You haven’t met Richie yet.”

#

The boat is small. Bev can’t help but think how suffocating it would be with… anyone else. Anyone that wasn’t a Loser. 

(Though maybe anyone who wasn’t Ben.)

He grows more comfortable around her, loses most of those first crush nerves even though he can’t quite hide the soft enamored look in his eyes. Their shoulders brush together in the kitchen, ankles bump when they sprawl out on the sun deck, his hand settles on her back when he shuffles by her. 

He leaves her space still, always seems to notice when she needs it. It’s never been easier to breathe. She’s never felt so at peace. The boat rocks her to sleep at night, head pressing into Ben’s shoulder, his arms warm around her. 

Mike calls every day. Stan FaceTimes from the park where he birdwatches in the mornings. Richie texts at odd hours with horrible punctuation. Bill sends blurry pictures of Eddie sightseeing in LA. 

Every day she wakes up, slips out of bed, careful not to wake Ben, and sits out on the boat, breathing in the saltwater air and watching the sun rise. 

Ben always creeps out a little after, sleep slow and drowsy, rubbing his eyes. 

“G’morning,” he says softly. 

She reaches for his hand. “Good morning.”

#

Patty works on Saturdays. When she slips out of bed, the mattress squeaks. Mike always wakes up immediately, so unused to sleeping with other people that anything from Stan’s snoring to Patty rolling over can shake him up. 

Stan always sleeps a little longer, wakes up at seven-thirty on the dot. 

Patty smiles at him before creeping downstairs. Mike pulls the blankets up, reaches for his phone to check for messages from the others. 

Stan’s curls fan out across the pillow. His arm stays draped around Mike’s waist, so warm and real even though the bedroom is hazy and light like a dream. Mike leans in, pressing his face into Stan’s shoulder, smiling when his arm curls tighter. 

When Stan wakes up it’s slow, shifting and sniffling, his fingers twitch, dig into Mike’s back.

Stan hums in the back of his throat.

Mike presses a kiss to his temple and pulls him closer, his chest full and aching. 

“Hey,” Stan mumbles, voice cracking, sleep slow. He swallows, runs his hand up to the back of Mike’s neck. 

“Hi,” Mike says. Stan’s warm, his skin is warm, the sheets are warm, the sun in the window is warm. Day after day he wakes up like this, in bed with Stan, another summer morning in Georgia. Anything feels possible. 

Stan hums again, shifts himself closer. “Mike,” he sighs sleepily. He presses a long lingering kiss to the skin behind his ear, tangling their legs together. “Fuck, love you.”

Mike’s heart pounds in his chest. He lets his hand rake through Stan’s curls. 

“Love you too, Stan the Man.”

Stan exhales heavily, lets his lips drag down the length of Mike’s neck. 

“Breakfast?” 

Personally, Mike could live and die right here, in Stan’s arms. But coffee does sound nice so he pulls back, smiles when Stan brushes their mouths together. 

“C’mon.”

In the kitchen, Stan gets started on some eggs while Mike wrestles with the fancy coffee maker and pretends he doesn’t see Stan wincing. 

“So,” Stan says, reaching over to straighten the coffee filter. “Florida tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Mike says, moving to watch the eggs while Stan with all his precision and grace takes over the coffee. 

“You know you deserve everything, right?” he asks softly, looking down at his hands. “Mike, I… you deserve so much.”

Mike swallows hard. “What’s happening?”

Stan takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. “I want you to be happy,” he says. “I… I don’t want you to be alone, ever again.”

“Okay,” Mike says, running his fingers over Stan’s delicate wrist. 

“So… if it isn’t something you want to do alone, I want to come with you tomorrow,” Stan says. 

“Yeah?”

Stan nods. “I really… when you were in Portland, I hated it. I hated thinking of you alone even though it was good that you were there, that you were out of Derry. I wanted to be there with you.”

“Wanted you there too,” Mike says, pressing his mouth to the back of Stan’s knuckles. “All of you.”

“Eggs,” Stan says solemnly, moving around Mike to turn the stove off. “And if you wanted… you know, Buenos Aires. I was thinking, it’s not too late to buy plane tickets and we could see if any of the other Losers are free.”

Mike smiles. Mike beams, presses his forehead to the curve of Stan’s back. 

“I’d love to,” he says. “But you should go with Patty.”

“She doesn’t mind,” he says. “She was the one who brought it up, the inviting-you part anyway.”

“Stan,” he says softly. “You thought you were gonna die.”

“We all did.”

“Spend some time with your wife,” he says. “I’ve been talking to Ben and I think I’m gonna join him and Bev on the boat for a little while. And when you get back we could visit Richie’s place. Apparently they’ve been renovating it, making it all Loser-proof.”

Stan’s lips quirk. “Okay.”

Mike wraps his arms around his waist, kisses the back of his neck and smiles when he shivers. “We’ve got time, Stan. We’ve got so much time.”

#

“I think… I’m okay,” Richie says, sitting back on his heels and breathing in. Bev smiles and tucks his hair behind his ear. 

“You want some water?” she asks. She doesn’t wait for an answer just kisses his forehead and heads out of the bathroom. Ben keeps rubbing circles on his back.

“Jeez, Richie, I’m sorry,” he says. Richie waves him off and tries to say something sweet and reassuring, but ends up doubling over the toilet again and dry heaving. Ben makes a sympathetic whine in the back of his throat and shifts closer even though Richie wants to warn him to stay out of the splash zone. 

The nausea passes after a moment even though the boat keeps rocking. Richie leans back against Ben’s shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut. Ben takes up Bev’s previous job, running his hand through Richie’s sweat-damp curls. 

“Found it!” Mike says, slipping back into the bathroom and holding up the clunky seasickness bracelet he bought off Amazon. 

“My hero,” Richie croaks, batting his eyes and reaching for Mike. 

Mike kneels next to Ben who gently shifts Richie’s weight over.

“Here,” Ben says after pressing a gentle kiss to Richie’s hair. “We should dock.”

Richie shakes his head, or well tries to. 

“Nah, I’m fine,” he says. Ben’s already gone. He buries his face in Mike’s throat. “Shit.”

Mike helps him slip the bracelet on, places a warm hand on the back of his neck. 

“Any better, Rich?” he asks. Richie hums.

“Much better now that you’re here, darlin’,” he says, letting his hands rest on Mike’s sides, the scratchy fabric of his button-down. 

Mike’s chest shakes lightly with his laughter. Richie smiles.

Mike’s neck is so warm and right there and Richie wants to kiss it so bad but he just threw up so much. He settles for just resting his cheek there, listening to the blood pound. 

“Do you know where my glasses went?” he asks after a few quiet moments.

“Right here,” Mike says softly, reaching for them when Richie leans back. 

He even places them on his face, his hands curving around Richie’s ears. 

“Good God, you’re pretty,” Richie says now that he can see again.

Mike smiles and shakes his head. 

“C’mon,” he says. “Do you think you can stand?”

“Oh dear, I do believe I have the vapors,” he says, placing the back of his hand on his forehead. “You’ll have to carry me from here, Mr. Hanlon.”

Mike smiles and stands, tugging Richie up with him. 

“Honey, you’re too good to me,” Richie says, letting Mike guide him out of the bathroom. “Just wait til Beverly gets back with my water and some toothpaste. You’re in for the smoochin’ of a lifetime.”

“Save it for the hotel room, Rich,” Mike says. 

“Hotel room?”

“Ben’s gonna dock and we’re gonna spend the night on solid ground,” Mike says. He wraps his arm under Richie’s shoulders, moves him into the boat’s interior living room, sitting him down on the small couch. 

“Aw, man, I feel like I’m ruining your guys’s fun boat weekend,” Richie says. 

“Oh you are,” Bev says, dropping herself onto the couch next to him, pushing a glass of water to his lips. 

“You don’t count,” Richie says. He takes another sip and swishes it around in his mouth. “You live on a fun boat.”

“Alright, so you and me in the hotel then?” Bev asks. “A good old fashion smokers sleepover.”

“What and let Mike and Ben have all the fun?” Richie says. He squeezes Mike’s hand. “I don’t think so.”

“Well I’m not letting you hog Ben all night,” Bev says. 

“What like you haven’t been hogging him already?” Richie shakes his head. “You’re not allowed to hog Mike either. Mike’s on my side. Right, Mikey?”

Mike grins fondly. “Sure thing, Rich.”

“Perfect,” Richie says. “You and me. And Bev and Ben. We can fit four on a bed. Hell if I can fit with Big Bill and Eddie’s personal space bubble, we can make it work.”

Bev lets her hand rest on his knee. 

“Or you can fit three in a bed and I can have a girl’s night,” she says, leaning over to brush her fingers over Dixie’s fur. 

“Boo,” Richie says and then puts his head between his legs because he feels like he’s going to throw up again. “Oh,  _ God _ .”

Mike brushes his hair out of his face, off the back of his neck, reaches for his glasses. Bev shoves a trash can towards him. 

“Oh, honey,” she says, resting her head on Richie’s shoulder. 

“On second thought whatever gets me off this boat the fastest,” he says. 

#

The plan is simple enough once they revise it. They were supposed to pick Mike up from Miami, Richie from his show in Orlando, and head up the coast, road trip to Atlanta. 

Instead, they dock for the night in Jacksonville, go splitsies on the nicest pet-friendly hotel they can find on short notice. The next day Bev and Richie head to a car rental and start the drive up so they can make Richie’s Atlanta show.

Mike and Ben get back on the boat and start hopping along to Georgia, stopping for food and to sightsee. 

“Ben, seriously,” Mike says. “I can pay.”

Ben presses his lips together, he seems so stuck between wanting to pay but not wanting to fight about this. 

“Yeah,” Ben says. “But it’s alright. I’ve got it.”

Mike sighs. “I’m not destitute,” he says. “Working in a library doesn’t pay very well but rent in Derry these days is dirt cheap.”

Ben looks decidedly guilty now, reaching across the table to place his hand on top of Mike’s.

“I know,” he says. “But… I’d love to treat my boyfriend to lunch.”

Mike feels his face go hot and fights against a smile. He didn’t know that Ben could play dirty like that.

“Okay, but next one on me,” he says. “You know, Stan wouldn’t let me pay for anything in Florida. He stole my wallet.”

Ben beams, pushing the check towards the edge of the table. He keeps his hand on Mike’s though, locks their fingers together. 

“Was it good? I mean the pictures were lovely but did it… was it what you wanted?” Ben asks.

Mike shrugs. “I dunno. I picked Florida when I was so young… it just seemed like somewhere far and nice. Exotic. Not Derry. It was all of those things, I guess.”

Ben’s eyes are soft, earnest, knowing. 

“Honestly, it was just nice to be there with Stan,” he confesses because it’s Ben. “And it’s nice to be here with you now. It’s not about the place.”

Ben nods. “You know… I have the boat, and I have my house out in Austin. You’re welcome anywhere I am. And you know, Richie’s an idiot, but I know he’d love to have you out there.”

“I think he wants us all out there,” Mike says. “He keeps sending us all those West Coast Best Coast t-shirts.”

“Stan’ll never go for it,” Ben says with a fond grin.

“Well, having spent some time in Georgia I think I get it,” Mike says. “Plus their house is beautiful.”

“But anything you want to do, anywhere you want to go,” Ben says. “You know we’ve got your back, right?”

Mike nods, running his thumb over the back of Ben’s hand.

“I know,” he says. “You guys don’t have to feel so guilty though.”

“Mike,” he says softly. “It’s not that-”

“It was hard for all of us,” Mike says. “In some ways, I think it was better that I remembered. I can’t imagine who I would be if I’d forgotten you.”

Ben seems to understand. 

He glances down at their hands on the table. “I was… really lonely,” he says. “I missed you guys but I didn’t even know that I was… I just wanted that love back, that was all I could remember from Derry, that I was in love and that it was enough. I wanted to be loved but… I thought I wasn’t, I don’t know, thin enough for it and then when I was, it was all about how I looked and not who I was.” He shrugs, and it’s so sad. Mike’s stomach twists.

“We loved you, Ben,” Mike says, swallowing hard. “Then. Now. Always.”

Ben nods. “I know.” He smiles, squeezes Mike’s hand. “I know that now.”

#

Patty seems more excited to see them than Stan does. 

Or excited to see Bev at the very least. They latch onto each other immediately, practically braiding friendship bracelets by the time Richie stops trying to lift Stan in their hug. 

Stan straightens his shirt, eyes rolling, but he smiles softly when he sees the two girls already deeply entrenched in a conversation. 

Bev’s smiling and gesturing to their rental car, nodding along to what Patty is saying. She looks happy, but there’s a small sharpness in her eyes, a defensiveness that makes Richie think about Greta Keene for the first time in decades. Bev always had to navigate that other half of being a loser, the ways girls could be just as terrifying as Henry Bowers. 

Richie takes her hand and squeezes. Stan wraps her in a hug and leads them to the living room. 

She settles, her shoulders relax, her eyes soften. 

By the end of the night, she and Patty decide to share the master bedroom to marathon Matthew Broderick movies, and kick Stan to the guest room with Richie. 

“Yowza,” Richie says solemnly. He tries not to mess up the sheets when he slips under them. There’s an odd nervousness in the pit of his stomach. He’s about to share a bed with Stan and he’s never done that before, he’s barely even kissed Stan and though he knows that they’re in this now, that Stan loves him just like he loves the others, but there’s a yearning still. 

Of all the losers he probably pisses Stan off the most. Eddie’ll get the loudest but that’s because he’s Eddie, he’ll start yapping at any of them for anything just to prove he can, to prove he’s safe around them. Stan is always so precise and careful and quiet. All the things Richie doesn’t know how to be. 

“Do you mind if I leave the lamp on?” Stan asks, still methodically folding his dirty laundry and setting it on the dresser. 

“Sounds good,” Richie says and clears his throat. Stan switches the lights off, the lamplight casts shadows across his face, leaving only his sharp angles, the starkness of his curls. “This is some sexy mood lighting.”

Stan rolls his eyes but comes to bed anyway, draws the sheets back and folds himself down next to Richie. 

Richie holds his breath for a second. He doesn’t know what to do with his body, doesn’t know what Stan is going to do or what Stan wants him to do. 

He hates that there’s a part of him that’s still scared. Of what? He’s still not sure. Rejection, probably. God, he’s ridiculous.

Stan slides in closer to him, pressing their shoulders together. 

“What?” Stan asks, turning towards him. Richie stares at the ceiling. 

He clears his throat. “Patty’s really nice, man,” he says. “I’m happy you found her.”

Stan’s breath hitches and he draws Richie into his arms. 

“Richie,” he says and there’s something there in the way Stan says his name but Richie has no idea what it means. 

He wants to ask but then Stan’s lips are against his neck and nothing else matters. His heart is thundering. Stan’s hands are so warm on his lower back. His mouth is so careful, so precise as he scatters kisses against his throat. 

Stan parts his lips against his skin, a soft and wet kiss where his skin feels the thinnest and the most vulnerable. Richie gasps and then clenches his jaw shut, fighting the way his chest heaves. He runs his hands along Stan’s back, grips the fabric of his pajama shirt as one tender open-mouthed kiss turns to another and another until they blend together. 

Richie doesn’t realize he’s crying until the gasps and moans he’s been managing to suppress turn into a sudden and audible sob. 

Stan stills, his lips hovering delicately above Richie’s pulse. 

Richie wants to scrub the tears away so bad, he wants to press a hand to his mouth to muffle the hiccuping sobs but he thinks he’ll fall if he lets go of Stan’s shirt ( _ from what? to where? You’re lying down. Pull it together, Tozier. _ ) 

“Richie,” Stan says and he still doesn’t know what it means, if this is going well or not. Probably not since he’s fucking crying. 

Stan pulls back, blinking rapidly. His hands curl into the back of Richie’s collar. 

“What’s happening, Rich?” Stan asks softly.

Something in Richie is electrified. He doesn’t know what to do about it. He’s overflowing. 

“You’re just… really fucking good at that,” he says, forcing his voice to stop cracking and shaking, holding himself still so he doesn’t try to wipe his nose on Stan’s shoulder. “Like way better than your mom.”

Stan rolls his eyes. 

He doesn’t move away though, just holds Richie tight, tight as Bill and Eddie do, a way that Mike and Ben don’t. He presses his lips to the side of Richie’s head and holds them there, steady and careful. 

Richie turns into his own elbow and tries to wipe his face. 

Stan doesn’t say anything but Richie knows he’s waiting. 

“Sorry,” Richie says, closing his eyes and clinging to Stan. “Shit.” Stan kisses his temple again and it scrapes something raw within him. “I dunno, man. This tenderness shit really hits, dude.”

Stan sighs but rakes his hands through Richie’s hair. 

“This whole thing is wild,” Richie says, laughing a little. “You know, you live your life for like thirty years surviving off bar hookups and knowing it’s gonna keep getting harder to find anyone to even look at you because you’re getting older and grosser so you just resign yourself to dying sad and alone. And then you resign yourself to dying at forty in your shitty hometown in a clown’s basement. So… this whole ‘everyone you’ve ever loved loves you back thing’ is a little unexpected.”

Stan smiles against his temple. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“I mean, we wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for you, Stan,” he says, a little breathless. “You were so fucking brave in Derry, man. You just… put it out there when we were all too chickenshit to say anything.”

Stan exhales sharply. “That wasn’t…” He shakes his head, his fingers stroking over the back of his neck. “When you were in the Deadlights, Rich… you have no idea. It was… terrifying. I thought… I think we all thought that you were- And I don’t think I’ve ever been that scared. If we had lost you… God.”

Richie lets his nose wrinkle, pushes at Stan’s shoulder. “You sure know how to make a gal blush, Stan,” he says. 

Stan shakes his head, presses his forehead to Richie’s. “Hey,” he says. “Without you there’s nothing, okay? It’s all of us. That’s the only way this works. If we didn’t have you, Richie, we’d have nothing.”

His eyes are so wide and so earnest. Richie shivers. 

“You know this isn’t gonna help me not cry again,” he offers weakly. 

When Stan kisses him, his mouth warm and soft and exact, it feels like being alive. 

#

In the morning, late morning, bright golden sunlight streaming through the windows, Bev knocks on the door of the guest room. 

Stan doesn’t move from where he has Richie cradled against his chest, breathing wetly into the hollow of his throat. 

Bev raises her eyebrows. 

“Patty sent me in to make sure you hadn’t smothered each other in your sleep,” she says quietly. 

“We’re good,” Stan says. He doesn’t explain that he woke up at seven-thirty like he always does, ready to start his day, but felt Richie’s fingers curled against his waist and couldn’t move. He doesn’t try to put into words what happened last night, he can’t explain how Richie quiet, peaceful, asleep is the best thing he’s ever seen. How a month ago he didn’t even know a feeling like this was possible. How Bev looks wonderful with her hair sleep-frizzy, in a t-shirt that has to be Ben’s or Mike’s, leaned up against the doorway. 

“We’re good,” Bev echoes with a smile. “Pancakes in ten minutes.”

Richie hums and sits up, rubbing groggily at his eyes. “About time.”

#

“I told Richie,” Eddie announces. “Just so you know. He kept saying one mattress was enough and you guys would fit, but I swear he and Bill fucking break the laws of physical space at night so how would he fucking know how many regular people could fit on a mattress.”

“It’s okay,” Ben says, patting the pillow down again and smiling. “The couch looks pretty comfy.”

“Yeah, but it’s disgusting,” he says. “I asked Richie how often he cleaned it and he said that couches don’t need to be cleaned. I mean, I’ve done my best since but god knows.”

Ben can only picture the shouting match that must have been, but it makes something warm settle in his chest as he spreads out on the couch. Eddie walks over to him, stacks up the coasters on the coffee table. 

“Night, Eds,” Ben says because it makes Eddie clench his jaw. 

“Move over,” he says, pushing Ben’s shoulder until he rolls back.

“Uh.”

Eddie drops down to the couch, tangling their legs together, somehow squeezing into the space.

“Eddie,” Ben says, bracing his hand on Eddie’s back. “Hey, man, you don’t have to.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Eddie says, his hand slips up the back of Ben’s shirt. He settles in, hitching a leg around Ben’s thigh.

Ben hides his smile in Eddie’s hair. “Thanks.”

Eddie just trails the tip of his nose along the edge of Ben’s t-shirt sleeve. 

“Fuck, you’re warm,” he mutters.

Ben tries to breathe deeply and calmly, trying not to worry about whether or not the flashing blue light of the TV is enough for Eddie to make out the stretch marks on his arms. 

Eddie kisses a sensitive spot by his elbow a little too specific. The next one follows a line up his bicep, no coincidence.

“Eddie,” he breathes.

“I remember when I was patching you up,” he mumbles against his skin. “After Bowers. I kept thinking about how warm you were. Richie and Bill always run fucking cold, but you were so… I mean, at the time I was just freaking out, I thought you had a fever or something, or maybe the cut was already infected but afterwards… I was always so worried about what you guys thought, whether you could tell how I felt but… I thought you’d give the best hugs, I just knew they’d be warm and soft and you’d be so good at it.”

Ben’s heart says  _ Oh _ . Even though it’s not a revelation. Even though he’s known.

“Am I?” Ben asks. “Good at it?”

Eddie nods. He presses another kiss to his arm as his breathing starts to even out.

“Love you, Eds.”

“Love you, too, Ben.”

#

There have been several times that Mike wasn’t sure he would make it to his forty-first birthday. 

Even when he wasn’t feeling maudlin he didn’t think it could ever be like this, the seven of them in LA, crowded in Richie’s kitchen, Beyonce thumping through Richie’s portable speaker.

He and Bev dedicate themselves to dancing as raunchily as they can, grinding up against Ben and Stan alternatingly who are trying to make breakfast and coffee for seven as efficiently as possible.

“It’s in the hips,” Bev insists, pointing at Richie with a spatula she’s holding for Ben.

“Ass,” Richie shoots back. “It’s the ass and you know it, Marsh.”

“What ass?” Bill asks. He holds an armful of cleaning products, standing behind Eddie as he scrubs the kitchen table down. Mike had offered but was pushed into a seat at the breakfast bar to enjoy the chaos around him. A birthday present. 

“Oh wow, Big Bill gets off a good one,” Richie says. “You know I have a twitter, right? I’ve had twelve-year-olds making fun of my ass since 1999.”

Bev spins her way over to him, wacking him on the forehead with the spatula.

“Clean that please,” Eddie says, even though he’s hunched over the table.

Bev laughs, leaning up against Stan’s back before she sidesteps to the kitchen sink. Richie takes her place behind Ben, pressing up against him. Ben’s face has been red for a while now and the blush persists. 

“And can you turn that down, you ass?” Eddie continues.

“What ass?” Richie says. Bill laughs.

“You’re gonna ruin your hearing,” Eddie says, waving a washrag wildly. “Tinnitus is no fucking joke, dipshit.”

“What?”

“Tinnitus. It’s like a really painful ringing in your ears.”

“What?”

“Tinnitus. It’s a real thing, it’s serious, man.”

“What? I can’t… I can’t hear you, Eds.”

A vein in Eddie’s forehead twitches. Bill catches Mike’s eyes and they share a smile.

Bev returns the spatula to Ben and dances around the bar to come lean up against Mike, as Eddie and Richie work themselves up louder.

“Your mom could hear me last night.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Hi,” Bev says, still moving from side to side while she’s standing in place in front of him.

“Hey,” Mike says, catching her hands in his. 

“You look happy,” she says.

“You do, too,” he says. She shuffles in closer, hooking her chin over his shoulder. “You’re… glowing, Bev.”

She kisses his cheek. 

“I, uh,” Mike says, glancing away from her to take in the kitchen. Richie has turned his attention to Stan, which will most likely end poorly but for the moment, Stan is grinning down at the Keurig. “I know it’s a little weird, but I kept up with you guys, over the years.”

Bev nods, smiling. “A little weird, but sweet. To have you looking out for us.”

Mike smiles tightly, shakes his head. “Every few months or so I would… and I would scroll through the pictures and…” He sighs, pulls Bev’s hand up to his chest. She nods at him reassuringly. “You all would be smiling, but you never looked happy. And it just wasn’t fair. You guys were supposed to be okay out there.” 

“Hey,” Richie says, coming around the bar like a storm. “Bev is making the birthday boy sad!” 

Bev sighs and leans back as Richie wedges himself between them.

“I’m not sad,” Mike assures him. It doesn’t stop him from climbing up the bar stool and straddling Mike’s lap. Bev grabs the back of Richie’s shirt while Mike braces himself against the bar.

“You’re gonna fall and snap your neck,” Eddie says. 

Richie wraps his arms around Mike’s neck, pulls him in close. 

“Alexa, play Birthday Sex,” Richie says.

“We don’t have one of those,” Bill says, coming up behind Mike to help him stay upright. 

“Well then now you know what to get me for my birthday,” Richie says. “Someone make a note.”

Richie’s birthday. Mike smiles into his shoulder. Right. Ben is next, then Bill, then Richie’s birthday. And they’ll spend it like this. Together. Just like they used to.

“Breakfast,” Ben announces, switching the stove off and stepping away.

Richie tries to untangle himself and slide off the stool and ends up taking them all down. Mike muffles his laughter in Bill’s shoulder while Eddie storms over to yell at Richie and check on the stool.

Bev pulls them up to their feet. Bill and Richie help Ben carry the plates to the table. Stan individual delivers the coffees, pressing a kiss to Mike’s cheek before he takes his seat. There’s not really enough room at the table but they squeeze in, grab a few of the chairs from the dining room.

“How are we doing?” Bev asks him under the chatter and the lowered music, leaning in. 

“Happy,” Mike says, pressing his shoulder into hers, raising his eyebrows as Richie steals a piece of toast from Ben. “We’re happy.”

**Author's Note:**

> This series is some of the most self-indulgent stuff I've ever written but I hope you enjoyed it too. Thank you for reading and let me know what you think!


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